


Master Saturday

by vesuviannights



Category: The Arcana (Visual Novel)
Genre: Blindfolds, Bondage, Dominant Valerius, FTM trans reader (he/him pronouns used), Light humiliation/name calling, M/M, Plugs, Praise, Submissive Reader, come bulge
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-03
Updated: 2019-10-03
Packaged: 2020-11-22 08:33:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,611
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20871266
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vesuviannights/pseuds/vesuviannights
Summary: Saturday nights are his nights, and what the Consul would like this week is to have you spread out, tied to the bed and ready to take his cock and his come whenever he so pleases, all while you keep your words to yourself and make not a single noise, like a good boy. And you ARE a good boy, right?





	Master Saturday

**Author's Note:**

> Written for some anon requests on my Tumblr (@vesuviannights).

Saturday nights were your chosen poison, the longest nights with the highest reward. You never quite enjoyed yourself in the moment, but that lingering warmth in your belly, that subtle shake of every muscle in your body that stayed well past the witching hour, seemed to make all of your tortured whines and barely-concealed sobs all worthwhile.

Saturdays were submissive nights. Hard nights. _Long_ nights. 

Consul Valerius—_Master_—would plan them so far in advance and yet never give an inkling as to what his intentions were. Most of the time you did not even realise how nefarious his plans were until he was binding you, blindfolding you, silencing you, reminding you of your safe word, and commenting—sly, smirking, cocked eyebrow—about how your legs were trembling, or how he could already smell your sloppy arousal as it trailed down the inside of your thighs.

The silence of the room around you is almost deafening, leaving a ringing in your ears that is not cut through by the usual distant voices or shuffling footsteps or the sounds of the city. The room of the palace he had chosen for himself, the one in which you were bound and left, was strangely isolated, though you knew from the path he had taken you (when you had been blindfolded and half-naked) that it was not too far from his own quarters, or from the main corridors the servants used.

_I am going to tie you to the bed and leave you here, so I can come back and fuck you and fill you with my come whenever I want like the good boy, the good little comeslut, that you are._

His words echoing in your head were your only salvation from the delirium-inducing silence, murmured to you as he had lovingly stroked the insides of each wrists, the curve of your ankles, while binding them with his preferred rope to each corner of the bed.

You had whimpered as soon as he had said it, when you realised what he had planned to do with you. From dusk till dawn, a cocksleeve, bound face-down to the bed for anyone to walk in and see. He had not closed the door in any of the three times he had returned and left after fucking you raw and filling you with his come, the plugs in both of your holes ensuring it would all stay until he returned for his next hit. 

_And do not pretend that you do not want it – I can smell your greedy little cunt from all the way over here._

Each time you heard footsteps, you trembled—and perhaps even moaned—at the thought of it being anyone but him. The thought that someone _had_ come up this way, and that they would see you spread, shivering, a plug stretching each hole…

You whimper into the sheets, and as though drawn by your sounds, you hear footsteps approaching from somewhere down the corridor. You hold your breath, panicked heart hammering in your chest, as the footsteps stop in the doorway, blocking the light from the corridor and shrouding you in a temporary darkness.

You wait, and wait, and wait, trying to shove your heart back down into its cage and stop your shivering body from giving your thoughts away. The figure says nothing, motionless and waiting for something you cannot decipher. Are they a stranger, amused by your helplessness, contemplating how someone could so willingly let themselves be humiliated in such a way? Is it a familiar face, a pair of horrified eyes you will have to meet one day soon, knowing that they have seen you at your most vulnerable, come drying on the insides of your thighs, body shivering under their gaze?

The culmination of your thoughts, both horrified and desperate, are what finally break the silence, a low, keening whine escaping your throat. 

_Please. Talk. Leave. Move. **Please.**_

It is only when you swallow back a half-formed sob that the figure actually reacts, the familiar sound of their laugh simultaneously settling you and setting you back on edge.

“Oh pet,” Valerius sighs. You listen as he strides forward, his heeled boots clicking on the stone before muffling against the rug at the foot of the bed. “What a sight you are. Desperate, quivering, trying so hard to keep everything inside of you—and you cannot even do that well enough for me to praise.”

You inhale at his words, tightening your muscles around each plug; you had thought you were doing so well, but your Master seems to have a different view. The action stirs your lower abdomen, swollen from each time he has come inside of you already, in whichever hole he chose, and you groan into the bed.

Valerius sneers at the sound. “Having trouble, pet?”

You nod wordlessly, not sure you would be able to do much else if you tried, even if you were allowed. It is harder to see him now that he is closer and away from the lights of the corridor. His face and movements are shrouded in darkness, and you only see a vague blur as he comes to stand beside the bed. A moment later, you feel his fingertips at your hip, and you jerk in surprise.

“Sshhhh,” he murmurs. His fingertips trace invisible constellations on your skin, inching close and close to the swell of your ass. “Good boy. Both plugs are still inside of you. Well done.”

You feel the flush spread across your cheeks, and you are suddenly grateful for the low light; if he had seen that flush, no doubt he would have mocked you for it, and certainly for the pathetic little whine that would have come after that same mockery.

His fingertips delve between your folds without warning, rubbing soft circles over your swollen clit. You shudder in relief, unable to keep a smile from crooking the corners of your lips as you rock your hips into his touch.

“Desperate, are we?” He asks, though he sounds only a little disgruntled at your reaction, and his fingers do not stop. You feel his other hand at your ass, tapping at the plug, pushing and twisting it inside of you. “Do you like being filled over and over with my come?”

With a soft moan, you nod.

“Can you feel it stretching you, swelling you? You have been such a good boy, taking all of my come and letting me leave it inside of you.” 

He pulls his fingers away before moving off to somewhere you cannot see, and you taste blood in your mouth as you bite down on your tongue, trying not to whimper or beg for him to come back. 

It is not until a few minutes later that he does, though you have been too busy trying to grind yourself against the mattress to know exactly where he has been. You are still twisting, grinding, trying to find even an moment of stimulation for your aching clit, as he settles on the bed beside you. He stills you with a hand to each side of your hips, and a murmured _sshhhh_.

“I am going to fuck you again,” he tells you, his voice slow, careful, quiet. “Can you take my cock once more?” You nod, and he gives a soft sigh of approval. “Of course you can, you are such a good boy, such a good little cocksleeve and comeslut.”

His cool fingertips brush against your folds before they secure themselves around the plug nestled there, twisting and pulling it gently to work it out of you. You exhale slowly, doing your best to relax your muscles, and after a few seconds it comes free. You cry out softly as the swell of it passes through your entrance, and his touch is there in an instant, soothing you, or perhaps trying to tease you into disobeying his orders.

“Clean it,” he demands, pressing the plug to your quivering lips. 

You take it eagerly, soft little moans rolling from your chest as you swipe your tongue over it, collecting the mixed taste of his come and your own arousal. When he is satisfied with your efforts, he takes it away, and then the world goes black as he pulls the blindfold back down over your eyes.

“_There_ we go,” he sighs. You feel his weight settle behind you, and the thick heat of his cock press into your pussy. “Good boys are not heard, nor are they allowed to see their masters. Good boys lay there and take cock and come, as much as they are told and for as long as they are told. And you are a good boy, are you not? A good little cocksleeve?”

_Yes. Yes! _

You whine and push back against him in response, and in reward you feel the head of his cock slip into you. Valerius groans, his fingertips pressing harder into your hips, little bruises already forming under each.

“Now,” he purrs. You wait, baited breath and tight chest, as he traces the line of your spine, making you shiver and sigh. “Let us see if you can keep being a good boy and keep all of it inside of you. If you let even a single drop out, or make a noise I do not ask you to make, I will punish you like the useless fucking slut that you are. Understood?”

Helpless, desperate,_ a good little cocksleeve_, you can only nod. 

And so with a growl and a murmur of praise, Valerius impales you on his cock for the fourth time that night, and your torturous game begins anew.


End file.
